


Shared demons

by Croft



Category: Uncharted (Video Games)
Genre: M/M, this took 7 years of my life, why do I love suffering
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-04-23
Updated: 2017-04-23
Packaged: 2018-10-23 03:11:00
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 7,840
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10710948
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Croft/pseuds/Croft
Summary: He had been thinking what could possibly be haunting the other man's mind and came to the conclusion that the they would might be sharing the same demons. Demons he was responsible for, he had conceived in a sleepless night.





	Shared demons

**Author's Note:**

> I think I still haven't read a fic of Sam having nightmares and definitely he has them. Both of them, tbh. But yeah, wanted to bring this to the world. I have a a soft spot for them suffering and taking care of each other.
> 
> Bfs who suffer together, stay together <3
> 
> Enjoy (suffering)!

Rafe opened his eyes, or thought he did, just to catch a glimpse of darkness. He moved his limbs only to notice the lack of presence of these. He felt his body omnipresent in a dark world in which the silence was of such magnitude that it was overwhelming. He tried to scream for help, but the howl didn't abandon his mind nor the place where the desperate voice was coming from. _Voices, voices_ , a murmur of voices that chattered inside of him but that still didn't hush the calm of the place that produced exactly the opposite effect in him. Among them, he could distinguish two. One, his own thought, as it seemed to share his bewilderment and need to leave the place. The second voice was a stifling weight, he could perceive it wanted to tell him something but it was unintelligible at contact with the others. For some reason, he knew he wasn’t dead. But where was he?

Everything happened very fast. The voices fell silent in unison. Out of nowhere, a blinding light spread through the darkness as if it were the blast wave of a bomb. If he could, he would have turned his face. The only thing he certainly knew was that the light had slowly given way to a new scene. In the blackness, small white patches slipped into the shape of a large, long ballroom. Rafe walked between faceless figures that turned to him on his way to nowhere and that despite their lack of expression, they gave him sinister smiles. He deduced that he was at a party of some sort, judging by the elegant black tuxedo he wore and the grandeur of the place. The guests were talking to each other. The men shape was of just one tone, black. Women's, white, long dress and hair tied in a elegant bun as unique distinction. The edges of the lounge were in motion, nebulous, as if it were smoke. It was as if everything outside his vision wasn't relevant, as if this moment was the only one that existed. Maybe it was. Everything was painted in black and White. Rafe found it normal.

He continued walking aimlessly, greeting with a slight nod when necessary. In the distance, among several people, a figure that stood out above them indicated him to approach. So he did.

As he approached, one of the two voices became clearer in his mind, but still didn't go beyond gibberish. He felt an uneasiness in his stomach that spread throughout his body. At every step the discomfort increased and when he finally crossed the distressing space, his dull brain seemed about to explode. It was difficult for him to breathe, he could feel a layer of sweat beginning to be formed on his forehead. The figure turned with an elegant movement towards his guests and dissimulatedly pointed to his way, introducing him. The figure didn't speak, didn't even have a mouth, everything was happening inside Rafe's mind. Still, the noise threatened to make him faint. He trembled as he reached out to shake his hand politely with the nearest person. He felt the nonexistent empty eye socket of each of them set in him, expectant by his words.

Rafe looked with certain fear at the prominent figure of his father, making sure he wasn't disappointing him. _Don't let me down_ , could at last stand out from the murmur of voices. The voice was sharp, cold and demanding. The dark aura emanating from the figure told him that he was doing just that. He wanted to speak, had to speak, but the knot in his throat prevented him from it. His father closed his hands in two taut fists. Rafe was getting dizzy, knowing the meaning of that movement. He tried to open his mouth but could not. Terror had paralyzed him. He closed his eyes and swallowed hard trying to regain his composure. But he had lost the opportunity. The party had disappeared, giving rise to a new scene; his father grasping him from the edge of his jacket's sleeve and carrying him down a tenebrous corridor to a cold room in which the only light came from a burning fireplace.

The figure turned, looking at him with disapproval and repulsion. _How dare you ridicule me in the middle of an important agreement? I thought you'd be worth more, you're just a failure._ He sighed in exasperation while raising his right arm, more than prepared to punish his son for disobeying his orders. The frightened child recoiled, trembling, with the first tears flowing from his light eyes. No, please his gaze begged but no matter how hard he tried, he could not put space between them. The figure followed him as if he was bound to him by an invisible cord. His father closed the distance with the threatening arm and Rafe put his hands to his face, waiting for the dull pain ...

That came in a form different than the expected, a wave of nausea when he opened his eyes. The greyish ceiling welcomed him to the real world like every night. His heart beating hard, bathed in sweat, breathlessly, a slight feeling of dizziness. He looked at the red numbers on the digital watch. 4:20 AM. Almost every night shared the same pattern; he'd sleep light for a few hours and was forced to wake up by nightmares related to his childhood and youth. Especially this one. It always repeated. He had been reviving that tortuous memory for twenty-four years. He was only ten when it first occurred.

He pushed the suddenly oppressive sheets away from his body with fury and sat on the edge of the bed, gaze lost in the landscape glimpsed through the balcony with no curtains. The moonlight made him even more pale than he already was, highlighting dark circles under his eyes that gave him the appearance of being sick.

 _Sick._ His heart didn't stop beating hard against his chest. _I'm sick._ Bile prevented him from breathing. _I've never been well._ A retch made his body tremble. _I've never been normal._ He gripped the end of the mattress. _Hopefully one day I'll be lucky to not wake from one of these._

Fortunately, the discomfort subsided. Unfortunately, the onset of a migraine was forming behind his eyes. Sighing, he went to the bathroom to refresh his hot face with cold water. Returning to the bedroom, he looked at the bed doubtfully, though deep down he knew he could not get to sleep easily. He wasn't yet ready to witness it again. Instead he went downstairs to the kitchen. 

It was when he was leaving his room that he became aware that he wasn't alone in his big and quiet house on the outskirts of Boston. He looked at the last door in the hallway, he imagined Sam behind it sleeping peacefully, still getting used to what a good source of comfort was. It was quite peculiar to be sharing the place with someone taking into account the fact that it had been years since the last person stayed for more than a day, leaving in the morning after falling asleep subsequent to a night of passion didn't really count. Therefore, despite the rarity of the matter, Rafe felt some relief to know that Sam was there. He told himself that the sensation was product of the discomfort coming from the recent bad dream.

Rubbing his eyes, he headed for the kitchen to take a couple of pills and prepare some tea. So he did. Then he went to the study to sit on the comfortable couch, laid his head on the backrest and closed his eyes, occasionally drinking from the mug. The place always calmed his nerves. The soft orange light coming from the desk lamp gave warm ocher touches to the room that for some reason seemed cozy to Rafe.

He had been resting for about five minutes when he heard the soft sound of a door opening and closing. Confused, he opened his eyes and looked at the clock on the wall. 4:48 AM. What was doing Sam awake at that hour? He exited the study to find the hallway, kitchen and living room empty. That left only two options. Believing it rather improbable that he would have left at that hour, his feet moved toward the glass door that led to the backyard.

He instantly recognized Sam's long figure bathed in a faint moonlight. He was sitting on one of the three wooden benches that were placed around a circular stone fountain. Despite being a cold winter night, he didn't seem to mind wearing just a dark blue hooded sweatshirt. There was something out of place in his posture; elbows resting on his thighs, head hidden behind his hands. Rafe knew that it wasn't his business to witness the intimate scene but he couldn't stop looking at him. Though in the few weeks since he freed Sam from that dump of a jail he had noticed a gradual change in him, it was still difficult to think of him without linking him to that young man with cheerful eyes, wide smile and desire to take on the world. That was why this contrast shocked him. 

Sam sat up and took the back of his left hand to his eyes, leaving it there for a few moments before returning to his initial posture. Rafe felt a lump in his throat as he realized he was crying. Should he intervene? Emotions weren't his best skill, wasn't interested in understanding them, not even his own that he usually hid behind a mask. Even less others'. But it was different with Sam. It was hard for him to admit but he felt almost some kind of... affection for the older man. Maybe it was due to the fact that he was one of the few people who had treated him as an equal, who had accepted him as he was. And one way or another, he was still in his life after so many years. His presence was familiar in his life.

Sam pulled a cigarette box from the back pocket of his pants and light it on. He took a long drag, exhaling small rings of smoke towards the moon. He got up very slowly, as if the action itself caused pain in each of his joints and Rafe set away from the door for fear of being seen. But Sam just kept walking and headed to the grove that lead to the open field, in which he disappeared.

Rafe returned to the studio, switched off the light and set the cup in the kitchen, cleaning it and placing it in the cabinet. When he got back to his room the digital clock dialed 5:16 AM. He collapsed on the bed with a deep exhalation and looked out the window. He visualized Sam in his mind walking gloomily among the trees, cigarette in hand and mind away from there. The thought was selfish but the knowledge that he wasn't the only one suffering made him feel less lonely. Exhausted and with some kind of fear, he closed his eyes and hoped not to return to the tetric dream in the few hours that separated him from the dawn.

 

From that night, Rafe began to see small details in Sam that he hadn't noticed before. The nervous and unsteady movement of his hazel eyes. The pronounced wrinkles at the edge of his eyes that weren't only due to his age. The shaking of his hands as he held a cup of Earl Gray, which had decided it was his favorite. The subtle move of caressing his neck where the tattoo was, leaving his long calloused fingers there for a few seconds. His lost gaze when he thought Rafe wasn't looking at him as they did some researching. Rafe would mention something and Sam would come back from wherever he was, nodding with a small smile that didn't reach his eyes. He hadn't lost his sense of humor but it had become a somber one.

The signs were there, you just had to read them. But Rafe had decided to ignore them.

One particular afternoon, Sam had been especially distracted and paler than usual. They had been locked in the studio for more than two hours not finding any new clues and Rafe was starting to exasperate. A month had passed since their arrival from Panama and the only thing they managed to do was lose his precious time. Rafe planned to return to Scotland in the coming weeks, had been waiting for Sam to get back to getting used to what a normal life was like. It would be of no use to advance if he'd close himself as he did in the first days. That's why he lowered the writing pen with which he had been writing and with a sigh he inquired:

“Sam, are you alright?”

He had uttered those words only twice. The first time was-

_On a hot and sunny day, the dark shirt adhering to his body due to the suffocating humidity. He had just got out of the car and was already sweating. Cursing, he wondered how Sam survived thirteen years in that burning hell. He leaned against the car's door and waited anxiously for the man's output._

_The gates of the third world jail opened giving way to a small and distant figure who stopped halfway, observing him. From that position, Rafe couldn't see his expression. He resumed his way with long footsteps, shuffling. The man facing Rafe didn't resemble to the boy he once knew that got his attention due to the free way in which he lived, so much in contrast from his. When they exchanged glances, several fleeting memories of the weeks before the entrance to prison researching next to Sam passed by his mind. They were good memories, Rafe remembered the connection that had arisen between them and although he never came to know him in depth, he had considered him a friend at the time. Now he could only see the ghost of a memory in the damaged face of the old man._

_Still, Rafe, moved by that distant connection, raised his arm and gave him a squeeze on his shoulder as a greeting. It was a natural gesture he had developed with Sam. He smiled slightly._

_“Devil looks after his own, huh?”_

_To his puzzlement and almost disappointment, Sam didn't answer, just looked at him with empty eyes as if he was a stranger. Rafe felt a little uneasy, still with his hand on his shoulder when he felt Sam stagger. Rafe grabbed him now with both hands and looked for his gaze._

_“Sam, are you alright?”_

_The formal question escaped from his lips because the situation required it but it did not reach his heart. Silence on Sam's part. He had closed his eyes tightly and the tone of his complexion had paled. A few moments passed until he seemed to regain his composure because after taking a deep breath, he smiled faintly and moved away from his firm hands._

_“Estoy bien, tranquilo. Solo ha sido un pequeño mareo, demasiado espacio abierto.”_

_“What?”_

_“Quiero decir, uhm…,” Sam gestured with both hands- que estoy bi- no- he kept looking for the words but couldn't translate. He took his hands to his forehead and put pressure on it._

_Rafe, seeing the effort that took the man, gestured with his hand to dismiss the matter and opened the passenger's door. Sam sat down and left the dirty bag that kept the few belongings he owned at his feet. Rafe thanked internally it was a rented car. With a great sigh of relief, he turned on the air conditioning, put on his sunglasses, and set off for the small airport where his private plane bound for Boston was waiting for them._

_The trip was quiet, both men silent, the only sound coming from the air conditioning and the wheel rims squeaking against the hot asphalt. Rafe occasionally glanced at Sam, who was leaning against the window and looking out of it. He raised his eyebrows as he discovered the four little figures on his neck. He also noticed he was holding tight the edge of the seat but chose not to mention it._

_Sam remained silent and at his side as he gave the necessary orders to the pilot. He looked around curiously, drinking in every detail. When the preparations were ready, Rafe approached the bar furniture and poured himself a glass of brandy. Then he sat down on one of the comfortable sofas and pointed with his glass towards a white door._

_“You can use the toilet shower. You also have clean clothes in the furniture behind the door. You'll feel better.”_

_Sam looked at him, then at the door, finally to the ground. His frown was furrowed and his face was acquiring a slight reddish hue when he said:_

_“Difficult... think... English...”_

_Rafe nodded, understanding. He already had problems mixing his native language with French whenever he went to the country for business issues, couldn't imagine how changed he'd be after thirteen years with no one to express to himself in his language._

_“Just take your time,” he spoke slowly, pronouncing every syllable as best he could._

_Sam's expression told him that he had not fully understood but that he had caught something from the context. With a quick little smile he disappeared through the door. Rafe sighed. He hadn't thought of this inconvenience, it would undoubtedly delay them. But looking positively, having at his side the Avery expert, he was completely sure that now he was the closest to the treasure he had been in the last decade. Sam reappeared an hour and half later. Rafe looked up from the book he was reading, "The Long Goodbye", and behind his reading glasses he studied Sam's slender body wrapped in jeans and a denim shirt loosely open over a white one. Denim always suited him, Rafe remembered._

_Sam murmured a small "thank you" and looked doubtfully at the room not knowing what to exactly do. At the end he decanted to pour himself a drink from the mini-bar and sat on the farthest sofa from Rafe, looking out the window. Rafe went back to the book. They didn't formulate any other word again during the remaining flight hours._

 

Sam came back from where he was at lightning speed and looked at him with expressionless eyes, just like that day-

_In which Rafe was forced to go to Sam's room and knock on the door. Three days had passed since their arrival and he hadn’t seen him again. After explaining to him by means of gestures and with a strange mixture between English and a very rudimentary Spanish that that would be his room, Sam had just nodded without energy and had entered the room. Rafe had left him some space but it was enough. They had to get down to work._

_He knocked a few more times until the door opened letting a glimpse of a Sam he wouldn't know if classiify as alive or dead. He wore a thick red sweater and a gray sweatshirt over it. He shivered almost imperceptibly._

_“Sam, you gotta get out of there. It's not healthy for you.”_

_When no response was obtained, he tried to attract his attention by saying:_

_“I've made your favorite food. You know, not sure if it's still but that one you told me that day in the library of my old manor.”_

_Sam's eyes twinkled for a millisecond as he stared at him steadily. Rafe felt a shudder, though he could not say why._

_Sam looked away, closed the door and stood next to the young man, waiting. Rafe smirked. The plan had worked._

_The dining room consisted of a long wooden table in the center, surrounded by shelves decorated with books. There was a phonograph in one corner, a bar furniture in another and a burning fireplace. There were three large, wall-like glass panels by which one could contemplate how a thin blanket of snow was starting to color with small white spots the dull field. Rafe began to serve the dishes of the tray that previously placed and to serve wine. Since Sam wasn't attending to his seat, Rafe searched for what was having him so busy. He was standing in front of the fireplace, moving his hands closer to the red flames. He snorted as he connected the dots and made a mental note to turn on the house's central heating. As if Sam had listened to his thoughts, he turned and explained:_

_"It's been quite a while since I've experienced so much cold. It feels weird," he spoke in a low voice but at least in English, "it feels... it feels wrong."_

_“It's not wrong. It's normal in your case. Come on, food is getting cold.”_

_They both sat at the table in silence, neither of them looking up from their dish. The silence wasn't entirely uncomfortable but it made Rafe evoke those far away afternoons in which it seemed they couldn't stop talking, in which they shared genuine smiles. Everything was very different now. They had both changed too much._

_Rafe looked at him sideways. Sam hadn't eaten anything, just toyed with the fork, pricking and stirring the food._

_“Sam, are you alright?”_

_Again, the inquisition lacked feeling. He didn't even look at him when he finally answered._

_“I don't think I can answer that honestly right now. I don't know who I am, I don't remember who I was,” a long pause preceded by a sigh, “I need... time.”_

_Rafe, still looking down, just nodded, though the slightest uneasiness had formed in the depths of his stomach. The next words Sam formulated, however, made any trace of the sensation disappear._

_“Rafe, uh... I wanted to ask you... where's Nathan? Why isn't he here? Is he…?”_

_The grip on the fork tightened. He had been waiting for the subject to appear in the conversation but it still irritated him more than he wanted to admit. With experience at discussing unwanted subjects, he put on his best business smile and entwined his hands next to the nearly empty plate._

_Sam looked at him with seeming nervousness, tense shoulders and a pleading gaze for a positive response. Rafe examined him for a few moments, he was quite knackered, both physical and psychologically._

_“Your brother is fine,” he watched as his shoulders smoothly fell, his gaze lighted up, how the beginning of a smile adorned his pale countenance, “after your "death", we continued working in Scotland but, for obvious differences, we decided to go our separate ways. Haven't seen him since then. For what I've seen in small news at Internet he has settled down and has left the "Indiana Jones" life style. He lives with his wife in a lovely house,” he pronounced the last two words with remarkable irony, “don't know anything else, nor I care.”_

_He picked up the glass and drank slowly as he continued to watch the poor man's reaction. Sam had lowered his eyes to his hands but was smiling, genuinely, for the first time since he was freed. Rafe surprised himself feeling that he had missed that expression, how it illuminated his face, how for a fraction of a second he seemed to be twenty-eight again._

_When the thought really hit him, Sam turned his head sharply in realization and looked at him excitedly._

_"What's his number? I want to talk to him. Oh, God, there's so much I wa-"_

_“I don't think that's relevant,” Rafe cut him off by raising his hand. Sam only frowned. Rafe cleared his throat, “think about it, if he has withdrawn from that life style is it because he no longer see it necessary, or got tired of it. He has lost all interest in it,” very slowly and pronouncing each word he added, “everything related to Avery is included there. He's moved on.”_

_The pain was visible in Sam's features, eyes starting to look shiny. Rafe felt a little violent. He wouldn't have imagined how susceptible Sam would be, how easy it would be to manipulate him._

_“If I was you, I would wait a while to recover and find some clue, then I would call him. We'll do it this way, okay?”_

_Sam looked hesitant but had to find the logic in his words because he nodded and turned his empty gaze to the intact plate. A taut aura had formed in the room that bothered Rafe, partly because he was the one to blame, partly because he didn't need to be on bad terms with Sam. He proceeded to break the silence._

_"Do you like your room?"_

_“Anything is better than that stale cell that smelled like dead fish,” he snorted, “the bed literally feels made out of cloud material. I like the books on the shelves, almost all ancient history. I've been reading these three days, sitting on the window sill. It has helped me remember much of the language.”_

_I remember how much you liked history, that's why I assigned you that room. In fact, it was you who made me so interested in the subject, he thought._

_“I'm glad. Do you think you'll be ready to start soon?”_

_He couldn't identify the changes he saw in Sam's eyes but his gaze was steadier than his words when he said:_

_“I will.”_

 

“I am.”

The same answer to the same old question. But for the first time, one of the two didn't lie. This time, Rafe meant it. He didn't know when it had happened but since that sleepless night he had begun to see Sam differently. Less as a means to an end and more like a... human with feelings. He had been thinking what could possibly be haunting the other man's mind and came to the conclusion that the they would might be sharing the same demons. Demons he was responsible for, he had conceived in a sleepless night. If he hadn't attacked that stupid guard in that outburst of fury... he wouldn't have taken almost fourteen years of Sam's life. Maybe, if it hadn't happened, they wouldn't even have seen each other again. But there was also the possibility that their relationship might have gotten deeper. Had he begun to feel indebted to him? Guilty? Maybe something else? He wasn't sure and didn't want to read into it more than necessary. For the moment, he was only sure that he wanted a real answer.

Rafe sighed.

“Sam, stop telling me you're okay. Seriously, tell me the truth. We're a team now, aren't we?”

“Team…,” repeated tasting the word, then smiled wistfully, ” like in the old days, huh? It's just... I've been having trouble sleeping.”

“What’s wrong?”

Sam put his hands to his forehead and massaged his temples.

“I've been having nightmares almost every night, reviving scenes that torment me. I'm a bit tired as a result and it all still feels quite strange. I'll get used to it, I guess.”

Rafe looked at Sam's hand, which had picked up a pen and was shaking again. His pale face was turned towards him.

 _You know, I also suffer from them. Maybe we could talk about it_ , he wanted to say. He didn't understand why, he never felt empathy for anyone but he felt the need, or curiosity, he wouldn't know, to know more about the older man. But it was hard for him. There was chaos inside of him, emotions muted long ago returning to life simultaneously to Sam's arrival from the other world. So instead he said, now unsure if he wanted to know the answer:

“Wanna talk about it?”

“No!” Rafe jumped slightly at the sudden sound in the quiet room, “no- no,” added softer this time, “thanks. I'm going to lie down for a while, think I'm getting a headache.”

Rafe nodded, watching Sam's slender, unenthusiastically body coming out of the study, closing the door slowly. He sighed and buried his face in his hands. Why did everything have to be so complicated?

 

The images flashed again in front of an impotent Rafe, just a mere spectator of this grotesque spectacle. _The oppressive darkness. The voices. The tetric party. The stalking and disapproving gaze of his father in the distance. The punishment; the threatening raised arm and the pain..._

That once again didn't reach him but that still wounded him emotionally. He looked at the digital clock, 3:54 AM. He closed his eyes tightly and grabbed the messy sheets waiting for his body to relax. He was drenched in sweat, his throbbing heart almost ached, bile stopped him from breathing, he was starting to feel dizzy. Shaky, he got up and went as fast as possible to the bathroom without falling and throw out the viscous liquid in the sink. It was the third time this month. He cooled up his sweaty face and looked at himself in the mirror. Pale almost unhealthy skin, lifeless eyes, dark circles under his eyes. He put a hand to his face, it trembled. He turned his face roughly, disgusted with what he saw. 

He was returning to his room when a slight vertigo made him stumble, had to lean against the wall. His gaze focused on the dresser, everything else in his field of vision losing sharpness. The only sounds that accompanied the night, the gurgling of the garden fountain and the crickets, passed into the background. He felt out of his body, as if seen from another person's point of view. He closed his eyes but it only did aggravate the discomfort. He felt like he was going to faint at any second. Of course, it did not happen, as never happened. They were only seconds but they seemed an eternity of pain.

What use was to have fortune, intelligence and a remarkable appearance when all you had inside were broken pieces and a dark, pronounced emptiness?

His weary body guided him through the well-known nocturnal route to the kitchen in the search for something to relieve the headache that began to occur behind his eyes. It was as he passed the living room that he heard the skin of the sofa creak slightly. With tired eyes, he looked to the focus of the sound. He approached to it and to his surprise found Sam sleeping there, facing the backrest in a the fetal position. He was shivering.

“Eh, Sam…”

He reached out a hand to touch his shoulder but in that moment Sam began to babble something and to shrink his body, hiding his head in his arms. Rafe put his hand away, feeling uncomfortable. It had to be one of the nightmares he mentioned. Again, it was a scene he shouldn't have seen, like that night two months ago. But it had happened and moved by something, blamed the night or the vulnerability still sensed in his body after the bad dream, he _felt_ he had to act.

He held out his hand again, but Sam stopped babbling and moving. With the cease of the sound, what he was going to do no longer seemed such a good idea. But a feeling he couldn't name, or rather one that he didn't want to name, had begun to slide inside of him.

He went upstairs to one of the two guest rooms and picked up a blanket. Then went down again silently and placed it on Sam trying not to wake him. Half leaned and over him, he could see his face very close, the quiet from the now calm dream giving him a young appearance, lines on his forehead and corner of his eye the only delators of his true age. Rafe's fingers itched for caressing his cheek, just for a millisecond. He surprised and reproached himself for even having that thought.

He left the room in silence and went to the kitchen for the pills. Then he headed to the study and waited until the new wave of devils devouring him inside disappeared.

 

Something between them changed that night. Sam had obviously noticed Rafe's gesture and Rafe's concern for Sam had increased, although he refused to admit it. During the time they were together, which used to be a great part of the day, they would look furtively at each other when the other wasn't looking. In more than one occasion, Rafe saw Sam wandering through the gardens or bad-sleeping on the couch. When the last scene occurred, Rafe would cover him with a blanket, turn on the living room heat or leave him a hot drink in a thermo for when he'd wake up. It was something that became a silent ritual to which they had become accustomed, none of them mentioning any word about it.

Until a cold February night. Rafe was coming out of his room again to the kitchen when, as he opened the door, he heard screams and whimpers. Exhausted as he was after the nightmare he had just had, he ran downstairs in alarm, stumbling and almost falling. The sound came from the living room and when he entered he looked for the old man on the sofa by instinct. Usually he just babbled, rarely loudly, and moved a little but today he was screaming a loud and clear _"no, no, please"_ and was shaking heavily. 

This was just too much for Rafe, he couldn't see him suffering like that.

“Hey, Sam, wake up, wake up! It's just a nightmare!”

He shook his shoulder harder than necessary several times until the man woke up and turned to look at him. In his gaze there were fear, confusion and something that in Rafe's eyes felt out of place, tears. They both looked at each other for long seconds.

“It's just a nightmare,” Rafe repeated, lowering his voice.

Sam finally reacted and faced away, wiping his eyes with the back of his sleeve. He sat to one side without turning his face, apparently embarrassed. An awkward silence settled in the living room.

“You need something?”

Sam shook his head. Rafe sighed and left the room on the way to the kitchen to bring him a glass of water taking longer than necessary to give man time to regain his composure. He was looking at the ground when he came back and avoided his gaze as he accepted the glass, muttering a feeble "thank you". Rafe sat down beside him and looked at him sideways.

Both were silent trying to identify what they were sensing. Rafe, moved by that melancholy feeling that used to bloom at night when he was near Sam, decided, not without fear, share a part of him to which just a few he had let know. He leaned on his knees and played with his hands, then cleared his throat.

“I've been having nightmares almost every night for twenty-four years, practically all my life. Related to events from when I was young, some quite unpleasant.”

Sam made no move at the confession.

"Usually, I'm a bit tired as a result," he turned slightly towards him as he heard his own words echoed but still without looking at him "is something you don't get used to but you learn to coexist with."

Sam set the glass on the table and massaged his neck, uncomfortable with the revelation. Rafe turned to face him.

“I want you to know that you can count on me if you need to talk about it,” he accompanied his little speech with a tiny, real smile. Everything felt so wrong; not to being alone, opening to someone, _wanting_ to understand that someone. When was the last time this happened? _This is making you vulnerable, you're weak_ , the voice reappered to remind him. And though it was true, though he was uncomfortable, inside him had ignited a warmth that was difficult to describe but that was worth leaving his comfort zone.

Sam finally looked at him, eyes studying Rafe's face for a moment, letting his words sinking in.

“The first days weren’t the worst, nor the last days,” he had lowered his gaze to his hands, fiddling with the cloth of his pants. His voice was barely a whisper, “when I first woke up, I couldn't feel or remember anything. Hell, I didn't feel like I was part of this world. Then came the pain, a burning pain that spread all over my body, making it hard to breathe. I didn't understand what was happening, my mind was far from being lucid and I had trouble processing. The first few days are blurred, I remember waking up and fainting from pure agony, later I would find that I wasn't given any type of tranquilizer. What a surprise. I spent several weeks in a filthy, dark, dingy cell on a hard, broken, gnawed mattress. I still don't know how I didn't catch an infection. "Doctors" came a couple of times a day, making sure I was healing. Heh, healing,” he chuckled ironically, “if at that moment I had known what the future was holding for me, I don't think I would have fought the way I did to keep on going. But the thought of Nathan gave me the strength to continue. Despite the terrible physical pain to which I was subjected, the real hell was in my head. Doubt, despair, hope of Nathan being alive," glanced at him quickly, "you too. I asked the guards about you two every day but they always ignored my torments. You don't know how helpless I felt, Rafe."

He inhaled long and deep, Rafe noticed that his hands were shaking. On impulse he placed his hand on his shoulder in a friendly gesture, giving him a slight squeeze. The tormented man closed his eyes at the contact but found in the action the strength necessary to continue.

“I was assigned a new cell, in the wing where the most conflicted convicts resided, and that's a lot to say, knowing the panorama. I guess it was as punishment. Think about it, the only officer who knew about the plan was Vargas, I was just a ghost to the others. I wasn't included in any file and they dindn't like it I was a loose end. The day I was transferred, the guard pushed me into the cell and, being weak as I was, I fell flat on my face. He spat in my face and in the most scornful tone I've heard in my life he made it clear that from there I would only come out in a plastic bag.”

Sam shivered at the memory under Rafe's touch, softening but still being an encouraging touch, now the only warm spot in his body.

“They began to be more severe with everyone, having more rules to avoid future incidents. The prisoners knew it was my fault... and they let me know their discontent on countless occasions. Knowing of my vulnerability, they used to corner me in a corner and beat me, or throw my the food, if you could call that stale soup food, to the ground or in top of me. Sometimes some would throw lascivious looks at me before...”

A sob escaped his lips and he covered his face with his hands, taking a deep breath, trying to keep his posture. Rafe moved his hand away, but he cut the space between them, wanting to do something but not knowing what.

He let pass a few moments until Sam spoke again, his voice muffled from behind his hands. He seemed about to break.

“Days, months, passed and they got bored of me. Every day I thought of Nathan. Did he made it? If so, why wasn't he coming for me? That could only mean ... I didn't know what hurt more. Still I had hope and could bear it. I used to tell myself that it must be a difficult process to get me out of there, more in the terms we had ended, but that would happen one day. However, time passed and my hope was fading...”

He fell silent as Rafe pressed his lips together in a thin line, his teeth clenched and rage beginning to boil inside him, annoyed by the fact of having to hear about that asshole, but mostly annoyed for allowing himself to be carried away by the surrealist thought that Sam would have thought of him as much as he did in long and silent nights. 

_Of course, you’re nothing to him._

“Gets to a point,” Sam pushed his hands away from his face and fixed his eyes on a point on the wall, “in which the human being gets used to everything, however painful it may be. Over the years, I developed the "ability" to numb myself of everything. I no longer lived as a person, I was just spending the days doing a routine as if I was a programmed machine; eating, sleeping, exercising, reading, getting into voluntary and involuntary fights. Some nights, however, what do they have that make you so susceptible to the environment?, a lugubrious thought would accompany me: the world seemed to have forgotten me, to go on without looking back, so, why continue? Everything around me became a way of escape. But I never had the fucking guts to do it... suppose deep down I had never lost hope.”

He whispered weakly, feeling very vulnerable opening for the first time. Rafe's gaze softened on his shrunken figure, being familiar with the feeling but chose not to comment. He hoped his company would be enough.

Sam lifted the corners of his lips in the tiniest of the smiles, teary-eyed.

“I thought of you too,” Rafe looked at him curiously, feeling a tingling energy arising in his stomach, “I thought how you'd be, I refused to think that... I imagined you in the library of your mansion, sitting on the window sill like when we were investigating, book in hand and a serious expression behind your reading glasses. Would have my friend inherited the family company he hated so much? Or would he be traveling and discovering ancient civilizations as he had always dreamed?”

The energy was now present in each of his limbs. "Friend". He couldn't remember the last time someone had referred to him with that term. A wave of emotions threatened to break down the barrier that had taken so much effort to build but in that moment Sam turned for the first time since the confession, a sad smile on his pale face and watery eyes. It was superior to him. He trembled as the first tear slid down his cheek and soon he was crying dejected.

Rafe didn't even think for a second, carried away by that deep impulse, rushed forward and surrounded him with unsteady but firm arms, embracing him with force. Sam didn't hesitate either, returned the hug with the same intensity or more and hid his face in Rafe's shoulder. These hurt there where Sam had grabbed firmly but he let him be, this moment wasn't about him. Rafe felt his eyes burning, having let himself be led involuntarily into the sad story and seeing himself kind of reflected in Sam's pain. As if he had lost control of his body, he found himself taking a shaking hand to Sam's head and began stroking his hair gently. He repeated the process until he noticed the sobs disappearing and Sam's shaky breathing becoming normal again. Still, neither of them moved for a few minutes. In spite of the devastating story he had just heard, how strange this situation was for him and how vulnerable it made him feel, he had to admit that having Sam in his arms was a distant feeling of being perceived as unpleasant.

The older man started to move and Rafe lowered his arms to free him. None dared to look at each other, both embarrassed. Rafe rubbed the back of his neck, not knowing what to do. Or what had just happened.

“Eh, Rafe,” he turned to look at him, “thanks.”

Sam's face was a mess, red, swollen eyes, wet cheeks, and watery nose but his gaze conveyed him warmth and a enormous gratitude. Something had changed in his expression, seemed more animated.

At such a look Rafe felt a shudder and had to lower his own.

“No need to give it. I gain nothing respect the treasure if you're whining around every corner.” commented with no importance. It was true in part.

"Ouch, that was a low blow." but Sam was smiling and Rafe found himself returning it.

They were silent but it was no longer uncomfortable or embarrassing, a small connection had begun to develop between them.

“You were saying you also have nightmares?”

“Oh no, we're not talking about that right now. I've had enough drama for the rest of the month.”

Sam laughed.

“Fine by me.”

“Do you want to go back to sleep or should I make you a cup of tea?”

“I do not want to sleep anymore.”

“C'mon, Samuel, don't be a kid. You just need to learn to live with the fact that sleeping will always be a nightmare. Literally.”

“Encouraging.”

“What I want to say is, that although they do not disappear, they become more bearable.”

Sam looked at him expressionless, then nodded.

“About that drink... don't you have anything stiff around?”

Rafe rolled his eyes but got up, his eyes telling him to follow.

It was dawning as he approached the mini bar, faint rays of sunlight illuminating his profile as Sam watched him calmly serve a couple of glasses of brandy. Both leaned against the window, watching the sun rise.

“For a world without nightmares,” Sam lifted his glass and moved it carefully so that the liquid wouldn't fall.

“You're such an idiot.”

Despite the comment, Rafe also lifted his and they toasted. The action was sealed by a silent promise in their eyes promising to be there for each other if necessary. 

Rafe looked away and continued staring at the landscape. Sam stared at him, the sunlight making his gray eyes stand out, giving them an ethereal touch. He had changed physically but where Sam noticed his growth was in the inside, much more mature and wise than that fourteen-year-old boy he had met in what seemed like a far away dream.

For the first time since he arrived at this cold house, as he felt the warm little sun rays on his face, looking to the younger man in front of him, he felt the closest thing that resembled to peace and tranquility. He looked at him affectionately, feeling grateful and curious for this new unknown facet of him.

He took a sip and also turned to look at the view.

_Maybe it's not so bad here._


End file.
